


a holy thing

by queenofsheba



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Alcohol, Anti-Sex Worker Comments, Body Image, Canonical Death Reference, Casual Ableism, Eating Disorders, Episodic Structure, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kinda, Menstruation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Radley, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6755527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofsheba/pseuds/queenofsheba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanna's Mona, in seven parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a holy thing

**Author's Note:**

> I thought, "Why not complete a random one-shot set that popped into my brain in the middle of the night?" So that's how I got here. I’m not satisfied with a good half of this, but I really needed to get back to writing. HMU if you want this in linear format, or if you want me to tell you what portions a trigger comes into play. Don't be shy!

V.

Down these mean streets a girl must go, who was not herself mean. 

But if Hanna Marin, switchboard operator extraordinaire, had to spend another minute without the tender embrace of a nice scotch in her hands, she just might have snapped her cap.

A softly muttered curse escaped her matte pink lips and caught on the brisk winds of autumn when she spotted the exposed porcelain line of skin just under her knee from the edge of her peripheral vision. She skid to a stop and noisily raised her foot onto the desolate iron chair stationed by a table outside of the Brew to investigate.

And there it was: an irritatingly asymmetrical run in her stocking.

Huffing, Hanna recklessly lifted the hem of her skirt to inspect the damage. What she found was that the offending run extended to the middle of her thigh. Already Hanna heard her mother in her ear, lecturing her about the perils of callously disregarding her nice nylons and walking around looking like a call girl because of it.

Hanna proceeded to roll her eyes and thought out loud, "Well. Isn't that a gas?"

"What's a gas?" Hanna's head snapped up to make out a small light half-concealed by the shadows of the alleys. From the darkness emerged first a speck of an amber spark, and then a freshly-lit cigarette dangled, in a way that could be labeled 'lazily' to the untrained eye, between two manicured fingers. Next came the telltale smirk (that haunting smirk that many a wolf could describe) which soon became the nest of the cigarette that slid between its lips. And finally, Hanna found herself face-to-face with the dame that led her down this hellishly slippery garden path of fear and loathing in the first place.

After a moment of running her eyes slowly down Hanna's scared-stiff body, Mona released a steady exhale of smoke from her nostrils. "Are you sure that it's a good idea to bare your gams like that in this weather, Han?" She mockingly pulled out a crisp bill from her fur coat. "Of course, if I even suspected that you'd switch from a switchboard to walking the streets, I'd gladly offer up some spare change to get you back on your feet."

In the face of Mona's smile, Hanna could only recover her leg and freeze in her original spot on the sidewalk. She crossed her arms under her breasts as Mona looked on in interest and arched a perfect eyebrow, waiting for Hanna to retaliate.

"I know that you're in cahoots with Ezra," Hanna bluntly stated. "And if your planis to retread any of that bullshit that you pulled in Radley, you can get lost, and for all I care, you can pack your bags and get the hell out of Rosewood. Just don't lay a finger on my friends."

Mona took a heady breath, the usual devilish gleam disappearing from her eyes. "Hanna, I'm not here to spook you." Her irises flickered from left to right and seemed to land on the invisible ghosts the haunted the empty square without coming back to Hanna. "I'm here to warn you about what's coming next."

"What do you mean, 'what's coming next,’ Mona? Are you planning to sic whoever's your shiny new Henchperson of the Week on my friends? Maybe you'll be one step closer togetting on -A's good side. Hmm?"

"Hanna, now isn't the best time--"

"Or will you decide to drive Aria bonkers by dangling her brother and her boyfriend in front of her like your creepy dolls?"

"Do me a favor and don't talk about Mike like--"

"Or are you going for a true-blue throwback this time, like hitting one of us with Jenna's car?"

"SHUT UP!" The scream stabbed through the silence like a knife. 

Mona’s lips pinched with something like rage or worry, Hanna couldn't tell, and her right eye even twitched for a fraction of a second before she managed to recompose herself into a much more regal stance that seemed to tower over Hanna.

The girl who used to be Mona's best friend allowed a soft apology to break the silence. "That wasn't really smart, I guess."

"No, it wasn't."

Hanna opened her mouth as if to say more before deciding against it and shyly fidgeting with her fingers. She could feel Mona's gaze with a cold, laser-like precision focusing on the nervous habit, but couldn't bring herself to care.

It took another moment of silence before Hanna heard the brunette start. "It's not there anymore."

"What isn't?"

"Your ring." At Hanna's glare, Mona flippantly informed her, "I saw you with it, one time. Before that jer-- before _Caleb_ left."

Hanna bit her lip. "We wanted it to be a surprise for everyone, but... things got complicated." Hanna shrugged, a touch too affected to make the move look apathetic. "And thus began my life as a reborn man-hater."

"It would be so much simpler without them," Mona agreed. 

Hanna showed her a melancholic smile in return. "No more gruesome crimes, no more broken hearts… Wars would be fought with words, not nukes.”

"I'd miss a handful of them,” Mona admitted. “But honestly, I miss thinking of us as a _we_ much more." This gave Hanna pause. Before the blonde could ask exactly what Mona meant, the latter looked to the clock that stood watchfully at the town's center. "It seems that I'm running too late for my own good."

"Mona..." Hanna hesitated. "Don't go. Please."

The other girl batted her eyelashes, suddenly turning into every inch the coquette, the enigma, the _devil_ that Hanna knew and wanted and feared in equal measure. "Oh, honey. If only you knew what's on its way."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a storm coming to town." Mona's signature smirk crept back onto her mouth. "And it's going to hurt like hell."

“What are you talking about?" she repeated, with more force.

"And there's nothing you can do to stop it. Isn't that sad?" 

For only a millisecond, if not less, Hanna swore that she saw it all in her mind's eye. Anguish. Pain. Fear. And death. 

So much death.

And all of it there, plain as the clock in the town square, on Mona's face.

But then that vision vanished as quickly as it came, and Mona was just as flawless as she had been before, turning on her heel and leaving Hanna further and further behind with each clack of her shoes.

Hanna desperately tried for the last time, "Mona?"

Without even turning around, Mona called back, "You're going to miss me, Hanna. Just know that."

\---------------------------------------------

I.

It wasn't as if Hanna had never seen her before. It was just that she had never NOTICED her before.

But who could blame Hanna? Dowdy skirts, circa-2000 glasses and the occasional silver rosary did not a lasting impression make. They never had a class together, or stood next to each other in the lunch line. Even the notoriously tedious hours-long assemblies that advertised a 'FUN NEW YEAR!' and ‘INCREDIBLE OPPORTUNITY!' and 'please remember that shorts must be at least finger-tip length' conspired against their first conversation.

So it wasn't terribly interesting or noteworthy when they DID meet. 

Months later, Hanna would remember something about a lunch date with Alison and the girls, and Alison ignoring Hanna as the latter hovered loyally by the queen's locker, and Hanna looking into her purse and realizing that she forgot her emergency tampon. It was then that Mona popped up behind the duo (because Alison and Hanna were the only duo, the only 'we' out of the three girls that lingered in the hallway that day).

"Hey, Ali!" It was around this time that Hanna actually shrieked at the sound of the unknown voice. Mona only barely eyed her with an unflinching smile before turning back to Alison. 

"Are you heading out for lunch? Because my mom took me to this great little restaurant next to the church—you know, the one where we both go?—“ That part stuck out a bit to Hanna's half-listening head. It was both too nice and too sharp all at once. “And it has this incredible burger that you MUST get well-done with a sauce that's to die for. It's called the Rosewood Grille, and I was thinking—"

"Interesting," Alison snapped, giving Hanna a 'no one said that it's easy being an ice queen' look before smirking at Mona. "But I prefer my meat rare." 

Hanna nervously took a deep breath and prayed that this mousy girl would get a clue before rifling through her bag for the last time. Yep, definitely out of luck. She shot out a second prayer, this time hoping that Alison wouldn't leave her to fester in the depths of social exile if there was a splotch of red that popped up on the back of Hanna's pink jeans.

Some mean voice in the back of her head wondered what business she had wearing skinny jeans in the first place.

Maybe she could ask Spencer for help? The brunette WAS notorious for being über-organized about everything, but Hanna quickly shot down that idea. Spencer may not be as picture-perfect as Alison, but she was still part of the entourage. That translated to, 'pretty and graceful and definitely not anything like Hanna Marin, the fat cow who can't remember to pack a tampon.' _Maybe that's why you got invited instead of Loser Mona; you're great at screwing things up, and every queen and court needs a jester to remind them of how bad it could be, if they weren't born looking and acting like the girls in Vogue._

"Lose something, hon?" Hanna's face snapped out of her tote and locked onto Mona's undeterred smile.

"Umm..." She desperately looked at Alison, unsure of how to proceed. But Alison was already texting someone, probably her mother, and facing the rear of the hallway. Hanna reluctantly turned back to Mona. "Yeah. Just something that I ran out of." She slid her bag onto the floor. "But I should be fine." After a moment, she nervously added, "I think."

Mona just nodded in understanding, with that cute smile that vaguely reminded Hanna of some half-forgotten cartoon character. "You should try packing your supplies every night before bed. It's less stressful than rushing around in the morning, wondering where your inhaler vanished to."

Hanna snorted. "Yeah, it, uh, it probably took a walk." She felt her eyes light up with a punchline. "Needed to get some fresh air," she finished dorkily.

Mona's lips stretched into a smile. "That's funny."

"Really?" Hanna's eyebrows shot up. "Most people laugh _at_ me, not _with_.” 

Mona opened her mouth as if to add something more, when the click of a phone snapping shut interrupted the conversation. Alison accusingly looked at Hanna before she stared point-blank at Mona. "Is there a reason that you're still here?"

Mona looked to Hanna for backup, but the blonde snapped her eyes onto the fire extinguisher tucked into the wall and kept them fixed tightly. Mona softly sighed before turning on her heel and walking a few feet away to the next set of lockers, opening her own and obscuring her face from view.

"C'mon, Han." As Hanna's brow crinkled, Alison shrugged and tossed a piece of blonde hair from her face. "My mom's picking us up," she reminded Hanna before strutting towards the front door.

Hanna resignedly started to follow Alison out of the school before stopping dead in her tracks.

Alison only stopped her walk, never pivoting back or tilting her head around. "What now?"

"I-I kinda forgot my bag," Hanna stuttered. "I'll just be a second, Ali." At Alison's groan, she tacked on, "Please don't leave without me!"

"Don't worry, Hefty," Alison demurred. "I'll be right here." 

Hanna peeked back towatch Alison slip on her sunglasses and slink over the front desk, then sprinted back to the empty locker halls. Her bag was still sitting there, in all its last-season glory, but it was standing straight against the wall instead of the lazy, drooping pose that Hanna had left it in.

Curious and panicked about the change, Hanna peered inside. Her phone, her spare keys, the emergency dollar bills her mother forced her to carry, they were all in place. 

The only difference?

A small, orange-wrapped pad, neatly wedged between her compact mirror and mascara.

Without questioning the good luck that God chose to bestow upon her, Hanna smiled and picked herself up, choosing to attribute the whole thing to some guardian angel.

\---------------------------------------------

VII.

The entire meeting was unplanned. At least, on Hanna’s part. She didn’t have the luxury of being able to read into Mona’s unknowable, hyperadrenalized head, and she certainly didn't have the energy to guess whether Mona’s impeccable outfit and pristine dashboard was a sign that she counted on running into Hanna, or if it was just typical Mona weirdness. No, Hanna was perfectly content to set aside the umpteenth suitcase she was working on filling, ignoring the still-blasting bubblegum pop playlist that she started up when she started packing, refusing to change out of her extra-large sweatpants and comfy t-shirt, and stomping down to Mona’s car without asking any questions.

“What are you doing here, Mona?” she growled into the passenger’s window, tapping on the glass with her pinky finger.

Okay, maybe she asked a few questions. 

In her own defense, it wasn't like Hanna had no reason to get suspicious of anyone in the town—not after a solid four years of questions and death traps and shady cop cars lining up just outside her room—but she especially had plenty of reasons to suspect Mona. Not to mention that this little encounter was taking place while Hanna was trying to be a responsible almost-adult and getting ready to pack everything she’d ever known away into an unjustly small number of bags because she was finally— _finally_ —getting away from Rosewood. Forever.

So, yeah—excuse her if she didn’t have time to talk with the girl who could spoon-feed her fro-yo during sophomore year and hide a stiletto _in her stiletto_ by senior prom.

Mona held her breath and slid out of the driver’s seat, holding her head down as she walked around to Hanna’s side. She slid her arms up to her sides, and met Hanna’s eyes. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the mall,” she said.

Hanna paused. This was what Mona wanted? No ‘Hey, Hanna, I’m sorry that we’ve barely spoken since we went through that bunker of torture that we call The Dollhouse, how about we catch up over some biscotti’? No ‘The last few, well, years have been awful and I think we should talk it out’? Not even an ‘As you can see, I made it out of Charlotte’s lair, and I love what she's done with the place’?!

But Hanna was too concerned to vocalize any of these things, and instead settled for a reply of "Um, uh… Now’s really not the best time. I’m packing. For college, I mean.”

Smooth, Marin. Really witty.

But Mona just looked at her in that way that reminded Hanna of why they were friends to begin with, before the entire mess that had become their lives, when Hanna would have definitely wanted to go shopping with her or to drive away from Rosewood together for an hour or five and not come back until the sun went down. 

And because Hanna was really sick of being the one that everyone told what to do, and of not having any answers to the questions she wanted to ask (and trying to fit her entire jewelry collection into her bags without tangling up any of her earrings), she spoke again. “You can help, if you want.”

And Mona just did that nice little smile. “I’d like that.”

So they walked into Hanna’s room together, and Hanna started to go back to her pile of autumn-ready sweaters, folding the sleeves in the way her mom had drilled into her head from the time she learned how to pronounce ‘cashmere,’ before realizing that Mona hadn’t moved past the doorframe, watching Hanna’s hands work.

“Do you need an invitation or something?” Hanna asked, and winced at how sharply the question came out before jesting, “I mean, you aren’t a vampire, or whatever.” 

Luckily, Mona didn't seem to take any offense when she came in. “I guess not,” she snorted while she picked up a pile of skirts.

The two girls stayed primarily in silence after that for quite some time, the sound of rustling fabric working in tandem with the painfully obvious Auto Tune coming from the speakers, and the main dialogue consisted of Mona asking whether a pile was meant to be packed or tossed into the corner dedicated to rejected clothes that wouldn't be making the trip, and Hanna’s one-worded answers. Sometimes Mona chided Hanna for something pleasantly simple, like the wrinkles on a sundress or some particularly shallow playlist song, but the duo was more than content to keep quiet. 

Hanna thought on more than one occasion that this ease was so easy. Like pretending nothing had changed between the two, only this wasn’t like the improvised excuses for sneaking into abandoned buildings to find another clue, or the biting reassurances that she was getting plenty of sleep.

Yeah, this was one lie that Hanna might like to believe in for a while.

So naturally, it couldn't last.

Really, it all came crashing down in two seconds.

One second consisted of Mona making a small, almost imperceptible squeak in the corner of the room. The next was Hanna asking what was wrong, because Hanna Marin couldn’t _afford_ to miss things, hadn’t been given that luxury in years.

It should have stopped then and there, with Mona actually handing Hanna the chance to let it go, a convincing “It’s nothing” and a waved hand and getting right back to folding.

A dress. Midnight blue. A zipper, straight down the chest. Size four. Property of Alison Freaking DiLaurentis.

She never _had_ been able to wear it after that day, where Mona had first sold her on the idea of becoming Hanna Marin.

“Hanna?” And then Mona was moving towards her, dress still held in her hands. 

Still half-dazed, Hanna tried blinking the glaze out of her eyes and found that she had sat on her bed sometime during her thoughts, and one hand was clamped onto her mouth.

With wavering, slow movements, Mona hesitantly positioned herself on the bed, too, as far from Hanna as she could be.

Mona’s lips parted. “Do you want me to—“

“Please, Mona,” Hanna begged, “get it out of here.”

This seemed to be something Mona was expecting, and she stood up to leave the room. She didn't look behind her, but quietly promised that she would come back. 

Hanna listened carefully for the sound of Mona moving through the house, then nothing when she went out the front door. Finally alone, Hanna felt the tears come, and didn't put up a fight when they raced down her cheeks, unfairly aggressive to be something her own body produced. She did restrain the pain bubbling in her throat, choking on her sobs to keep them quiet. In no time at all, those passed, but she could still feel that her eyes were weak with some familiar strain.

Mona chose to come back sometime after the worst of the episode was over, and Hanna couldn’t tell if her heart speeding up in time with Mona’s movements in the foyer was a good sign or a bad one. Regardless, she realized that the other girl was waiting downstairs for her, hovering by the living room, according to the sound. 

Hanna crept to the door and steadied her breathing before opening it, then making her way down the stairs. Mona came to meet her, and Hanna chided herself for daring to wonder if she had imagined that Mona would return.

“It’s gone,” Mona confirmed. 

Hanna crossed her arms. It wasn’t meant to be a sign of hostility, but it served instead to make her feel a bit more secure, and smiled at Mona. 

“Thanks.”

Mona stoically nodded, and Hanna chuckled, reminded for a brief moment of Paige McCullers on the Halloween Train. 

“What?” Mona looked genuinely puzzled, but her tone was lighter. 

Hanna paused to think. "How about I tell you later?”

Mona shrugged and started to walk up to the stairs, still guarded by Hanna, but the blonde extended her arm.

Mona seemed to ignored Hanna's gesture, but stopped, nonetheless. “Han?”

Hanna reached for Mona's hand and softly pulled her in the opposite direction, to the door. “You wanted to take a drive, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well—“ Hanna spun around to smirk at her. “I don’t see anything wrong with taking a spin after getting so much done.” She thought for a moment. “Do you know if the senior boys still take innocent freshmen girls to the Kissing Rock for their creepy rite of passage thing?”

“As far as I know, _yes_.” Mona rolled her eyes at the concept. “Ugh. It's like they think convincing a few pubescent Bracefaces to give them tongue is like painting the Sistine Chapel or introducing a polio vaccine.”

Hanna laughed. “Well, maybe some mature and sophisticated graduates should give those girls a wakeup call,” she suggested.

Mona pulled out an exaggeratedly fake gasp. “Hanna Marin and Mona Vanderwaal use their powers for good?”

“We may as well. Plus, imagine catching—I don’t know—Issac Young or Ben Coogan taking advantage of some poor girl, and having every right to turn them over to the police?”

Mona gave her an incredulous look. “As shocked as I am in your faith in the Rosewood P.D. to handle this,” she pushed a lock of Hanna’s hair behind her ear airily before unlocking her car and continuing, “I think that _that_ —plus a visit to the mall, and maybe stopping at Rive Gauche for a bite?—would be perfect.”

“Hey, what made you think I wasn’t implying that we would kick their asses _ourselves_?” Hanna faux-huffed. She slipped into the passenger’s seat and leaned over to Mona conspiratorially. “And yeah, that sounds perfect.”

Mona grinned. “It sounds cliché, but I don’t want you to ever change, Han.”

At Hanna’s start, Mona seemed to understand what she was thinking. That Hanna couldn’t ever promise that, that maybe it was that line of thinking that tore them apart in the first place, that that thought was eerily close to someone else that they’d rather not talk about, but flipped on a radio station and started to root through oneof her compartments, still looking content.

And, not out of any sense of obligation, but because Hanna couldn’t keep it from being said, she quietly spoke: “I love you, Mona.”

“I know,” Mona teased and pulled out two sets of sunglasses. “I love you, too, Hanna Marin.”

Mona began to bring a pair of glasses to Hanna’s face, but abruptly stopped with realization and pulled the glasses back. Instead, she offered both pairs to Hanna, who chose between them for herself. Seeing Mona’s sad smile, she took the remaining pair and put them on Mona, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. 

Mona’s cheeks colored, and she started the car while starting a conversation about the lack of quality films that were playing, and Hanna pretended to understand her references to Fellini and Hitchcock and Huston.

They never looked back. 

\---------------------------------------------

III.

"'Hanna, you are fine. There is no way that they're going to let some buck-toothed transfer student who can't sing get this part over you, or my name isn't Mona Vanderwaal.'" She Inhaled deeply before pressing out the remaining air through her cheeks. "My name is Hanna Marin, and I am currently being ridiculous." 

Hanna tilted her head and glanced down from the dingy windows to look at the near-catatonic girl sitting primly on the bed. "But if you aren't going to give me a pep talk, I figured that I could give myself a pep talk if I was being you giving me a pep talk."

She took Mona's lack of response as an invitation to stand up from the bed and fully turn to the Radley patient. "Did that make sense to you?"

Mona might have blinked.

"Well, I guess that everything makes sense to you; you've got that hyperadrenalized reality thing going on, right?"

Mona didn't respond.

Hanna scratched the back of her head and rolled her eyes. "Right, they don't want me to talk about that stuff." She cheerily snorted, "Business as usual, right?"

Mona didn’t do anything.

Hanna's nails dug into the skin of her thighs of their own accord. "Right. So, just listen and tell me what you think?" A look at the dull shine in Mona's eyes. "If you're up to it?"

Not even a breath.

Hanna bit into her bottom lip. Old Mona would have diagnosed this as a Hanna Marin sign of slowly-boiling frustration. "Alright, then."

She tore her eyes from the shell of her friend and instead focused on the smallest dent in the otherwise uniformly dull wall. "’Now you are knee-deep in your head’s footnotes, and your eyes are closing.'" She tapped the beat on the left heel of her pumps and tried to recall the surrounding four harmonies that would play under her at the audition. "’Let me take your complex out of content and you—‘"

"Context."

Any waiting-room nurse would see a frantic blonde bob snapping into place through the small window to Mona's room.

Barely remembering the orderlies and their advice, Hanna hopefully stuttered, "What?"

"The lyric is supposed to be, 'Let me take your complex out of _context_.'" Mona swiveled her neck to meet Hanna's azure eyes. "And already, I'm warning you: breathe with the rest marks AND on the rests, or you'll run out of air." Mona seemed to half-roll her eyes in a weak imitation of what Hanna had done only two minutes before, but smirked as she finished her point. "They won't pick you if you sound anything like Bridget Wu when she tried to sing Katy Perry at the talent show last year."

Trying in vain to lose the awe that crept into her smile, Hanna paused. "Thanks," she mumbled, head angled towards the music in her hands. Her eyes were still fixed on Mona.

Mona shrugged. "Don't mention it." Her gaze seemed to land on the sheet music, then on Hanna's still-glowing expression. "Don't wait for more notes, Han! Get going!"

The blonde blinked out of her trance. "Right. Okay." She inhaled until Mona could make out the slight rise of her stomach, and started. "’Now you are knee-deep in your head’s footnotes and your eyes are closing.’” Breathe.

Mona began to gently hum the soprano line, earning yet another bout of unshed tears of joy in Hanna's eyes and an upward turn of her mouth. 

"’Let me take your complex out of context and you can stop your posing. I’ve been listening to you talking in your sleep, it’s a strange poetry. You’re always running from something, it seems.’”

\---------------------------------------------

VI.

The heaviness of it hit her all at once. Her seasonal shearling jacket, the inexplicable lump that precariously swung at the back of her throat, the slim white flowers that drooped from her hand, even the air that she inhaled. 

It was just too heavy for one girl to manage. 

There was no way that she could bring herself to care about the scuff marks that would surely fold themselves into her boots the next day, because all she could do was think don'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry until she willed the tears into the mystical universe of what might have been. Yes, the air was heavy. 

But she wasn't going to let that stop her from finishing this.

Still banishing the thoughts of wrinkles and scuff marks ( _my my my, how bougie of us, She would have teased_ ), she bent over to assume an uneasy position next to the smooth marble, untarnished and whole, that would have to serve as the last scrap of a chance of a link to the girl that she had lost.

Mona Vanderwaal. ‘The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.’ 

No date. 

No ‘daughter’ or 'friend.’ 

And mercifully, no ‘-A.’ Thank God for small favors.

It seemed so callous now. Just a short string of words, and that was all that you had to offer. Nothing about how She always knew how to read your mind when you sorely needed a hug and a kiss on the cheek as if by magic or how She should have could have should have would have SHOULD HAVE gone to college and been happy there or how She couldn't ride a horse to save her life. She couldn't save Her life. And that was why She was here, wasn't it? 

She couldn't save Her own life. And no one else did.

The don'tcrydon'tcry started to rise up again, so Hanna began to murmur it under her breath. 

As if, in the middle of this morbid Judgment Day with a dead girl, it would make a difference. 

Hanna reminded herself sternly that this isn't what She would have wanted, stop crying or She'll be unhappy. As these admonishments started to jab through her head, cutting deeper than any of Alison's juvenile nicknames, she crescendoed her verbal mantra. At this point, it was a ninth-grade dare, a 'the first to cry has to take a shot!'

_You're better than that, Han! Chin up!_

And then everything is honey and sweetie and _Han_ and she just can't take it anymore.

The sobs take all of two seconds before overwhelming her, body and soul.

It takes her half an hour to notice that she's curled into sitting on the ground. Only the base of her head makes contact with the marble when she looks up, but somehow it's enough to make her stop.

Hanna clears her throat and dries her eyes as well as an unofficial two months of mourning can teach her.

"Guess what, Mona?" Hanna actually smiles at this, something that she hasn't taken for granted in maybe two years. "We’re going to win.”

And maybe the air isn't so heavy anymore, now that She knows.

"I going to make sure you win. I owe you that much.”

They never did get to have that first kiss.

\---------------------------------------------

IV.

Hanna peered up from the coffee table to meet Aria's eyes, hazel and laced with fear and concern. "So what do we do about Spencer?" Aria asked.

Hanna could only weakly shrug in response. Why did it feel like the universe was trying to pullher in fifty different directions lately? Between her mother retuning home only just over a week ago, what she thought was a concrete case for the 'Ezra is -A'' theory, Caleb leaving town to sort out everything he could call 'complicated,' and now the news that Spencer started her habit of popping pills the same year Hanna stopped sleeping with a teddy bear? Yep, the cosmos seemed to have it out for Hanna Marin.

Hanna pressed a pair of fingers into her temple and began to roughly knead the skin. Meanwhile, Aria looked up to give whoever opened the door a blank stare that Hanna recognized as one of Aria's 'I'm pointedly not smiling because you don't deserve one of my smiles' looks. 

"Hi, Mike.”

Before Hanna could even turn around, the voice that she hadn't heard in quite some time teased, "Really, Aria? Aren't you going to say hello to me, too?"

Hanna's eyes widened in disbelief. She swiveled around to see the unmistakable form of Mona Vanderwaal, clad in a formfitting outfit of headband-to-heel white lace with a pristine shock of red lipstick on her full mouth.

It was only then that Mona's eyebrows raised in what Hanna couldn't be sure, but ventured to name as, _surprise_. God, how long had it been since Hanna could trust herself to guess that Mona was caught off guard? It seemed like finding Mona in a state of anything other than lucid, serene cool was getting rarer and rarer. 

Just like the odds of finding Mona herself.

Mona slowly parted her mouth to speak, all the while reassembling the placid mask that passed as her face these days. "Hanna. I didn't expect you to be here. Long time, no see, right?" At the sight of Hanna's unreadable expression, Mona's eyes fluttered all over the room like an airborne bird of prey before landing on the boy standing next to her. "Mike, we should really get to studying." Her warm brown irises cooled as she ( _threatened_?) remarked, "I'll see you around, Hanna."

Mona started her walk through the Montgomery house into Mike's room with her companion ( _date_?) following close behind. But they didn't move quickly enough for Hanna to miss the dab ( _shock_ ) of red, smeared to a still-attractive hot pink that peeked out from the chiseled side of Mike's jawline.

How Hanna managed to stop from gasping, she'd never know. What she did know was that Mona was no idiot. If she had wanted to hide all evidence of her meeting ( _c'est une rendezvous—it’s a date. Is it a date_?) with Mike, she'd have hid all evidence in advance. And according to Patterson logic, that meant that Mona wanted Aria to know about her meeting (well, not definitely a date, not yet) with Mike.

Mona wanted Aria to know. Did she want Hanna to know, too?

"So, what's the deal with Mona and Mike?" Hanna saw Aria's glossy brown locks peeking over a copy of some annotated Joyce. "Are they..."

"Together? YES!" Aria abruptly slammed the book shut and jumped out of her seat, her petite body shaking with what Hanna swore was what should be an illegal amount of fury. "They're together and it's driving me insane and I can't get Mike to shake himself out of whatever spell that witch is putting on him!"

Hanna visibly deflated. Oh, so it was a date. That awful cosmic sense of humor wasn't going away anytime soon.

"And now they're actually meeting up whenever I drop Mike off in the morning, and she's giving him frigging TONGUE three feet away!" Aria continued to spit out her tangent while pacing across the living room. "I swear, it's taking every last ounce of my self-control not to jump onto that evil, backstabbing piece of pure evil and pull out every last strand of hair on her horn-hiding head!"

"I bet it does," Hanna dimly interjected. She felt bad for Aria, she really did, but her mind was too busy swerving every which way with this new development. How long had Mona been seeing him? Why did this start, and if it WAS a plan to send Aria to Radley, why did it start NOW? Was this just a way to mess with Aria, or... Did Mona know that she would be here? Was it HANNA that Mona was trying to hurt? Was this some sort of twisted comeuppance for Mona taking the fall for her mom with the cops? And why was this making Hanna’s head hurt so much? 

Of course, Hanna’s treacherous thoughts whispered, there's the chance Mona would _want_ to date Mike. And why wouldn't she? He's nice and funny, and she's... Mona. She's not nice, and she's only funny when she can liken Lucas to some weird animal from another continent, but she's MONA. The smartest girl in school, teachers and faculty included. Cunning beyond compare, with a tongue so smooth it can compel you to jump off a bridge or rob a bank for her. Not to mention her face, because at this point, it's just always been THERE, staring Hanna in the face ever since their friendship started up one eternity ago. What no one else except for Hanna (and maybe Mike, but she doesn't allow herself to believe that he could see it, too) knows is that she's one of the best friends you could ever hope to have.

"Oh! Hanna!" Aria unknowingly halted Hanna's train of thought. "I'm so sorry. I... I just forgot about you and Mike, and then with you and everything Mona's done to you." She made a sour face. "If anyone should be upset about this, it's you. I mean, Mona just pulled this 'Backstabbing Bitch' card, and NOW she's making out with you by proxy. Gross, right?"

Hanna's spine compulsively shivered at Aria's imagery, because she may be extremely confused at the prospect of Mike and Mona together, but making out with Mona and Aria's little brother (again) was most definitely NOT what she signed up for when she made that mistake.

Aria reassuringly placed her hand over Hanna's and smiled. "It's okay to feel weird about this," she comforted in that motherly intonation that tended to steer Hanna on the right path. "I know that you're probably a little bit jealous--"

"What?"

"I just mean that it's probably awkward to see your eighth-grade hookup going out with the bane of our existence.” Aria scooped up her book. “Why? What did you think I meant?"

Hanna genuinely would rather ask –A to operate on her wisdom teeth again than answer that to herself, let alone Aria, so she struggled to think of something satisfying to say before giving up altogether.

"Nevermind," Hanna insisted. "Aria, it's not like I was going to propose to Mike. And now he's found an actual girlfriend!" Taking a cue from Mona, she tried to plaster on a mask of her own. "I mean, he's your BROTHER, and we had a thing for two seconds, but it's not going to happen." 

At Aria's semi-offended expression, she added, "But maybe we should figure out the Spencer thing before delving into the psychic-sexual bits of Mona's mind."

Aria pursed her lips."It's _psycho_ sexual, Hanna." She exhaled deeply. "But we can figure that out later."

Safe, Hanna let the mask drop.

\---------------------------------------------

II. 

The sun had long set by the time that Hanna and Mona made their dramatic, if unfashionably late, entrance at Noel Kahn's summer cabin. In fact, the vast majority of the ninth-and tenth-graders had already moved on from the awkward conversations about summer reading and small sips of Corona, turning instead to sweaty heaps on the dance floor and pounding back sturdier swigs of the sophisticated liquor that their college-age siblings only wished they had the cash to get their hands on.

It took Hanna and Mona ten minutes and five drinks each to get in on the fun.

_Do you remember that time you threw up on the trampoline?_

All that she would remember the next morning was the gloriously unsturdy feeling of the material under her soles, the incomparable sensation of the summer air hanging on to her every move, the infinite, proud moment that she realized that she'd never have to worry if the surface under her feet was creaking. For once, it wasn't Hefty Hanna making the world shake below her with her thunderous thighs. It was just a trampoline. 

That realization made her want to go higher, to tower over the stupidly bright cabin and fly over all of stupid Rosewood and shout out some extremely unstupid things about what the stupid people could do with her size-4 ass. So she tried. By God, she tried.

Higher and higher she went, screaming out for the world to hear. Only, her words came out sticky.

_You did that backflip and you barfed as you went over._

The next thing she knew, she felt something chunky and wet on her feet and had to come back down.

_Trust me, I remember._

And instead of towering over Rosewood, she was suddenly back where she started, only a few feet above them thanks to that damned trampoline.

_Well, the thing I remember was your dismount; you knew everybody was staring at you,_

She found that looking down wasn't all it had cracked up to be. All it got her was a view of some chewed-up pretzels, that awful orangey-brown thing that she didn't have the time or patience to find the word for, and a whole lot of beer.

So where else could she look, but out?

It killed her.

_You got to the edge,_

Without blinking.

Without crying.

Without looking down.

_Climbed down and looked at us,_

Without looking down.

_You wiped your mouth and then took a bow._

She was only half-aware of the move she made to clear off her top lip. It could probably be traced back to some instinct that her mom drilled into her, to look her best even when at her worst. Regardless, she did manage to register that her lipgloss had disappeared under the pressure.

The nausea started to creep up her throat again, so she did the only sensible thing and ducked her head down, willing the punishment to come and feeling surprised when it never did.

Still aware of the eyes latched onto her, she turned the dive into a bow.

They all laughed together, but she smiled when she realized that she knew exactly who started the applause.

_I was in awe._

She had just pulled herself upright when she felt something in her single clean hand

Mona's fingers, curling around her own.

_Of me hurling on the trampoline?_

As soon as the music started to play again, she sheepishly followed the brunette into the house, into the pristine bathroom. With a stupid smile stuck to her face, she held still on the toilet as Mona tenderly kneeled down on the floor to mop up her makeup with the warm embrace of a washcloth. When the fabric trailed down to the side of her mouth, she looked out again, unafraid.

For her efforts, she was rewarded with the first set of proud eyes on her that she'd seen since her father left. It made her want to puke in front of the whole school more often.

_No, of that bow. I mean, it was like this, incredible life lesson._

They wasted no time after leaving before heading to the nearest supermarket to snag a box of microwave popcorn and some screwball comedy that Mona swore by. They walked back to Hanna's house with their haul that night, walking on moonlight and Rosewoodian air.

_That's when I knew I wanted to be your friend._

They never did stop laughing enough to hear any of the punchlines.

_Wow, I never knew that._

And maybe, just maybe, that was when she decided that she didn't want to fly away from Rosewood anymore.

_'Cause I never told you._

At least, not without Mona.

\---------------------------------------------

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This is my first fic here, so lemme know what you think, even if it's a comment that just says "This is an extra kudos."


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